


Forks, WA

by maskedone



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Twilight Series - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Grief/Mourning, M/M, PTSD, Past Relationship(s), Slash, past character deaths
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-06
Updated: 2013-03-19
Packaged: 2017-11-20 12:31:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/585450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maskedone/pseuds/maskedone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the war, Harry needs an escape, a new life. The Ministry sets up a home for him somewhere no one will know him, somewhere he can be normal. Forks, WA. But this is Harry Potter; nothing is ever that simple for Harry Potter. Enter the Cullen's.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is AU. There are a lot of changes between canon and this story. In the war against Voldemort, the events happened differently, and certain people who didn't die in the books are dead here or some that died are still alive, for instance Snape and Tonks are both still alive, but Hagrid is dead. More details will come out as the story progresses.

He pulled his leg up, wrapping his arms around it as he laced his fingers together. He was sitting on a pile of rocks, looking out at the water, the shoreline, the rolling landscape covered in trees, the ceiling of clouds, the confetti-fall snow. The cold was beginning to set in, setting in deeper, into his bones, but he didn't shiver. He ignored it.

Snow fell from the sky, layer after layer, gathering on the land or disappearing into the black water. Black. Everything was black. The trees were black, the water was black, the rocks were black, and the snow was white. The snow was white, and the clouds were grey, and everything else was black. Everything was black.

He was alone. He never got to be alone. These moments were few and far between now. He ran his hands over his face, digging at his eyes, pushing his hair back, and sighing. No one was watching, judging, assuming. The walls fell. No more plastered on smiles. No more placating small talk. No more counting down the seconds before he could leave class, leave lunch, leave home. Dark shadows deepened, curves went slack, numbness swirled with pain, swirling with it, fading into it.

He let out a choked sob. He opened himself to the gaping black hole that was taking over his chest. His heart and soul were sucked in, leaving nothing. There was nothing. He was nothing. He ground his nails into his scalp.

His stomach was churning, tightening, wrenching back inside him as though his guts were being pulled out from behind him, and everything else in him was following. Even as it was draining away, he could feel his chest filling, the air stuck inside him. He throat closed, he wrapped his arms around himself, the air fought to get out, he began to rock back and forth, his lungs and heart were beating at his ribs, pounding for more room, more space, so they might consume him with the blackened air inside him, he tried to breathe but couldn't, he tried to move but couldn't, his brain began playing reruns of every mistake, every short-sighted decision, every lost life, every time he hadn't been enough, everything he hadn't been fast enough, strong enough, smart enough, to keep, and he was sobbing and the air inside became thick as oil and started threading through his veins.

Everything was black. He was black.

He burst, grabbing the nearest rock and chucking it as hard, as far, as he could. When it landed across the beach, white snow flew into the air, and the rock stayed where it was, blackening the white bank.

He swallowed. His insides had stopped moving. His face was back to a blank look. He was standing straight. And no tears were falling.

 

 

Hogwarts, September 1

Harry slid down out of the carriage, Ron and Hermione just behind him. He crossed his arms, watching the swarms of students, greeting each other, talking and laughing and joking around, loitering at the bottom of the stairs, and climbing the stairs into the Entrance Hall. There was so much warmth all around him. So much joy and normalcy.

Harry looked up at the castle. Hogwarts was gleaming and twinkling in front of him, all warm, yellow candlelight. It looked, well, clean really. Probably the post-Carrows clean up job. It was just as regal and old looking as ever, but there was less green tingeing the stones and the grooves between stones stood out sharper then Harry had ever seen before the war. The light from the windows and the setting sun made everything look red-tinted. The grass was manicured and vivid. The trees seemed less like a forest and more like a line of books on a shelf from the library. The sunbeams were blinding and warm. It looked so idyllic, almost homey, Lifetime-movie-romantic, and Hallmark card worthy.

Harry sighed, hands shaking, eyes shifting from place to place. He was trying not to note escape routes and crowd size and dynamics.

"Let's go in, shall we?" Harry looked over. Hermione was frowning at him. She and Ron were holding hands. Ron was waving and shouting at various people as they passed. "The sooner we all go in, the sooner the sorting starts, right?"

The sooner you go in, the sooner you can leave.

Hermione's suggestion caught Ron's attention. He turned back to the other two, tugging Hermione toward the Hall. "The sooner we go in, the sooner we can eat!"

Harry chuckled, following them.

 

 

Forks, August 26

It was raining. The clouds were gray and undefined. Everything was wet, the grass, the trees, the windows, the stones of the balcony, the cars. It was coursing and dripping and grey, all of it.

"Edward?" Esme called, knocking on his door.

Edward turned away from the windows.

"Jasper and Alice are downstairs waiting for you. Are you ready yet?"

Edward nodded, grabbed one handle of his new bag, and walked down to the car.

He never touched the new supplies I got him, did he?

Alice and Jasper were already in the front seats when he slid in. "Happy first day of school!" Alice greeted, beaming at him.

One out of one hundred and eighty-two. Edward looked out the window.

Just take it one day at a time, all right?

Alice's eyes flickered down, cheeks dropping, before coming right back up. He wore that yesterday too. "Are you sure about that outfit? I'm not sure it quite fits with the trends this season. We should get you in something a little more bold." Jasper pulled out of the driveway, and Alice chattered on.

They reached the school and slid into a park spot. Edward climbed out to find dozens of eyes on him. He sighed. He'd thought he'd enjoy the day people paid attention to him for something other than the looks or the money, but… Well, he'd thought a lot of things, hadn't he?

Are they sure he didn't do it?

What an absolute tragedy. Weren't they engaged?

Oh yeah, poor Cullen, he shows up to school in an Audi. Poor him.

Edward scowled back at them and pushed his way into the school.

 

 

Hogwarts, September 1

They walked into the Great Hall. It was mostly empty; everyone was still greeting each other outside. They sat about halfway down the Gryffindor table. Harry looked around, trying to find people that he knew to say hello to. He saw ruins and blood spatters and ripped robes and vacant eyes instead. Harry sighed and put his head in his hands. Hermione lifted her hand to rub his shoulder, but Ron caught it, shaking his head once.

That was when Dennis Creevy appeared. "Hey, Harry!"

Harry jolted up, startling Dennis. "Dennis, how are you?" he recovered, beaming.

Dennis smiled back. "Oh, I'm great. It's so wonderful to be back at Hogwarts, isn't it?"

Harry fought a frown. His arguments with McGonagall had been in the Prophet. Dennis would've seen it. "Yeah, wonderful," Harry said, his eyes tightening.

Dennis' own smile faltered.

Hermione kicked Harry under the table. Harry refreshed his smile with something more genuine looking. "So, where's Colin?"

Shit. He closed his eyes the second the words were out of his mouth. He knew better than that.

Dennis blanched. "He-He's not…"

"Oh, God, Dennis, I'm sorry. I never should've- I knew that- … Look, would you like to sit with us?" Harry tried.

Dennis just looked down at his hands, not knowing what to do with them, and shook his head. "I, ah, I was already planning to sit…" He nodded toward the other fifth years.

Harry grinned back at him. "Well, good then. Ah, you know I've, ah, I've been through your year before. Tons of homework. It was like the teachers were trying to punish us for wanting to take the OWLs." The trio pushed out a light laugh. "So, er, if you need any help, I can, er, help. Because I've done it all, so I'll have… advice. Just, don't hesitate to ask, alright?"

Dennis nodded. "Well, have a good feast," he said, swiping his hand at them, which Harry assumed was a wave, and walked away.

"You too," Harry called after him and turned back to Ron and Hermione. "God damn Merlin's shitface."

Ron burst out laughing. Hermione swatted his arm. "Harry, language! It's not funny, Ron."

Ron tried to stop, but he couldn't. "Sorry-" laugh, "it's just," snigger, "I've never seen" laugh, "anyone," snort, "be that clueless."

Harry chuckled. "That was so terrible."

Hermione glowered. "This is not funny! That poor boy was devastated, and what if he saw you two laughing? That would be even worse."

Harry looked up, catching her eye. "Sometimes you have to laugh to keep from breaking down, right?"

Hermione softened. "That was superb advice, wasn't it?"

"The best."

They both smiled.

Harry looked around the hall again, taking in who had just come in. He caught movement at the end of the Slytherin table. Blaise Zabini had just come in with Draco Malfoy.

Harry's mouth went dry, and his face drained. He was breathing chalk, and his stomach was lead. He hated looking, but he couldn't look away. Before long, he was staring. He was frozen, blindsided. It made sense, of course. If Harry had to be here, so would they. So would he.

Harry's hands began to tremble, then suddenly he looked up, registered that he had eye contact with Harry, and smirked.

"Harry!" Hermione's call timed with Ron's kick to his shin pulled him back to his own table.

"Ow! Yeah? Right." His hand was still shaking. He looked down. Oh. No, that was just Hermione, shaking him to get him to stop zoning.

"I know they're dirty Death Eaters, mate," Ron started, "but it'd be best to ignore them. If we pretend they don't exist hard enough, maybe they won't, oh, like that-that fairy with the immortal boy?"

Hermione snorted, shaking her head at him. Harry just looked at them blankly. "Peter Pan. I got him to watch it over the summer. Somehow it was even more confusing than watching plain old muggle television."

Harry nodded, smiling. In the back of his mind, he kept thinking, oh God, he's right there, and he had to fight to keep his eyes from roaming back to him.

The trio filled the time with small talk. Harry didn't attempt to talk to anyone else.

Eventually, the first years trickled in, lead by Professor Snape. The sorting hat sang about new beginnings, forgiveness, grief, and new triumphs. Everything that was expected. McGonagall called forth the food, everyone stuffed themselves silly, and then she stood again for her welcoming speech.

"Welcome new students, and welcome back returning students, to the first day of a new era at Hogwarts!" She was met with cheers and enthusiastic applause. "This year at Hogwarts should be quite interesting. There will certainly be a great many things to adjust to. I think it is important for us to remember that Hogwarts might be a school, but more importantly, we are a community and a home. Hogwarts is a safe place. No one here is less than anyone else, no matter their house, no matter their history. If someone was allowed to come to school, they are to be treated with courtesy and respect just as any other student would be. We must move past our dark past and rebuild. Together.

"A few specific announcements: Mr. Filch has asked me to remind you that the Forbidden Forest is out of bounds to students, there is to be no magic in the corridors, and, as you will hear in greater detail tomorrow, there is a new schedule system to accommodate the extra students we have with us this year. Now, eighth year students are going to live in suites, instead of the usual dormitories. Please note, these suites are off limits to younger students. That is all I have for now, no doubt there will be new announcements to address tomorrow. Prefects, please lead the first year students to the dormitories. Otherwise, have a pleasant evening." There was a smattering of applause as most students stood, chatting and crowding the exits. Harry followed Ron and Hermione to Gryffindor tower.

 

 

Forks, August 26

Edward would never understand how teachers could handle teaching the exact same thing every year. He was sitting at a desk at the back of the room, cabinet side, doodling in his notebook as Mr. Berty introduced the syllabus for the year. They'd start with - wonder of wonders - Romeo and Juliet.

Shakespeare? That shit might as well be written in Russian.

Will he be able to handle the suicides?

Edward hid a snort. Oh, he'd be able to handle that. Handle it right to the Volturi.

Edward pushed away the voices, leaving his mind clear, empty. He drew in his notebook, sinking deep, out of consciousness.

The bell rang.

Edward began putting his pencil and paper away, reaching toward the notebook. He froze, hand hanging in mid-air. He'd drawn her window.

"Edward?" Alice was in the doorway waiting for him. "It's lunch. I thought I catch you here to make the walk to the cafeteria less boring."

Edward looked up. She'd seen him drawing and had wanted to stop him leaving early on his first day back. Too bad.

He put on a grin. "Right." He swung his bag over his arm and followed her out.

When they got to the lunchroom, most kids were still in line. Edward walked straight to their usual table. Jasper showed up with two trays.

"Food, anyone?" He put the second in front of Edward.

Alright, this year, you're going to actually do your homework on time. Do you hear me? On time.

What kind of guy gets that upset over a girl? I mean, I know they were dating, but come on…

No, God, please don't sit here. You never shut u- crap.

Edward scowled, beginning to shred his bagel. Dandy. Life was just dandy.

Nine months left.

 

 

Hogwarts, September 1

When they got to the portrait of the Fat Lady, Hermione jolted to a stop. Ron and Harry looked at her, one frowning the other blank in confusion. Hermione shook her head. "We don- That's not our common room anymore," she said, staring up at the portrait. "Our suite is down the corridor."

Oh. Ron and Harry looked back at the portrait. It wasn't home anymore. Ron shrugged. "Can't we go in anyways? We're still Gryffindors. It's not like they kicked us out."

Hermione looked at Harry. He shrugged back. Why would going into the common room matter? Hermione looked back at Ron and nodded.

When they climbed through the portrait hole, the common room was silent. Harry frowned. The common was never silent, not on the first night.

Harry squeezed past Ron and Hermione, needing to survey the room. Everyone was looking at him. Staring.

Oh. Right then. Harry had saved the world after all. It wasn't everyday that a living, breathing superhero walked into Hogwarts.

Harry rolled his eyes. "So, who had a good summer?" Laughter broke out from some, others stayed silent, and after a moment, someone started clapping. The clapping spread into wide applause. Harry felt his face heating up, raising his hand to try and shush them. "Don't, please." No one paid any attention. "Really, I'm not worth all this." No one was listening, so Harry gave up. Ron stepped forward and clapped him on the back.

"Well, Harry, how does it feel to be so famous that you can't even walk into the place where you show off how smelly your feet are without a standing ovation?"

Harry laughed and forced a smile. He rose a hand for silence. "Alright, thank you for the warm welcome. A bit too red carpet for my taste, but still I appreciate it. I would really love it if we could all pretend that I'm no different than any of you lot. I mean, the only reason that I am who I am is because some crazed madman decided that he wanted to kill my entire family. That's not exactly something to emulate." There were scattered chuckles at that. "If we could all just forget what I was during the war, then that would be great."

Harry could see a few crestfallen faces, but honestly, he didn't want to spend the rest of the year signing autographs. He just didn't.

Hermione spotted Ginny, and the trio went over to her, sitting down and chatting with her and her friends.

As Hermione and Ginny debated whether the Weird Sisters deserved their fall from grace in the music industry and Ron discussed Quidditch standings with a sixth year, Harry just watched, observing. The fire had been built high; Harry could feel waves of heat hitting his face from it. All the candles tinted the room with more of a golden tint than it usually had with the explosion of gold and red in the decor alone. It was all warmth, laughter, and joy. It was bright.

Harry scratched at his wrist. He resettled himself in his chair. He pulled at his robe, smoothing the wrinkles. He fought not to notice. The shadow behind Dennis Creevy, or surrounding Seamus Finnigan, or the ones shining in Ginny's eyes even as she smiled like a pageant queen. Everyone else could see past them, smile past the cold, but Harry couldn't.

Harry pushed his mind back into the present when someone tugged on his arm. "Come on, Harry, tell us about it!" It was Parvati Patil.

Harry frowned. "About what?"

Parvati rolled her eyes. "How you did it. How you finished off all the Death Eaters. You've been so vague in your interviews."

The group around Harry froze, some leaning in for a story everyone had been dying for for nine months, the rest tensed in preparation for a Harry Potter sized upset. Harry himself felt like the floor had dropped out from below him. He was falling, floundering, and everyone was watching.

Harry swallowed. "Well, I was at the man- Malfoy manor, I was brought out so that Voldemort could kill me, I fought back, accidentally set the place on fire, killed Voldemort, and escaped with Malfoy and Snape. There's really nothing else to it. I'm going to go get some food from the kitchens." Harry stood up and walked out of the common room.

"But-" Parvati called after him, before she was cut off by Hermione.

 

 

Forks, August 26

Edward knocked on the door in front of him.

"Come in."

Edward turned the knob, opening the door halfway. "I got this slip," he said, holding up a yellow piece of paper.

The dark haired woman behind the desk nodded, marking papers. Edward shifted in place in the doorway of the tiny office. It was more like a cubicle than an office.

"You can come in, you know. Take a seat." She didn't look up. She kept marking her paperwork.

Edward's jaw clenched. He walked in, shutting the door, and sat down in a deep, curved chair covered in some abominable fabric that felt like canvas covered in sand. Edward sat still, watching the woman, Ms. Periston, shuffle through papers, writing at times, annotating at others. He bounced his legs, tapped his fingers on the armrest, eyes flitting around the room.

Ms. Periston noticed. Edward could see her eyes flicker at him and the almost-smile that appeared a moment later, yet she kept her attention on the papers. She was waiting on him.

"I could come back later if this is a bad time," Edward offered.

Ms. Periston smiled. "Oh, no, that won't be necessary." She set the papers to the side, scooting her chair a bit farther in. "Hello, Edward."

"Hello."

Periston chuckled. "I'm sorry, you have no idea who I am, right… uh," she trailed off, raping her nails on the desk, then stuck her hand across the desk. "I'm Ms. Periston. They shipped me in to deal with the effects of, uh, what happened last year. I've been a psychologist with a focus in grief counseling for years, but I found I was getting bored, so when I heard about this job, I came running." She laughed. Edward didn't. "Right, so I've heard that you were particularly affected by the accident."

Edward didn't say anything.

"Would you mind telling me about it?"

Edward took a breath, looking away, and shrugged. "We were dating, she was attacked, and I grieved. Nothing more, nothing less."

Not according to your teachers.

"Okay. That's completely normal. What's also very, very normal is to have issues buried that you don't realize that you have. The best way to begin to deal with it is to talk about it. So, why don't you tell me about her?"

A smile flash across his face. His mind filled with brown hair, pale skin, and heat. His hand came up to rub his forehead. His chest ached. He began cataloguing the dirt on his shoelaces. "What about her?" His voice was tight, thin.

Ms. Periston smiled, eyes frowning. Pity, then. "Anything. What she liked to do, what she dreamed of, what she liked to wear, what she loved. Just start talking."

Edward let out one scoffing laugh, but answered. "She had this truck. It was decades old. Barely worked. I always told her it'd be the death of her."

Then it was, wasn't it?

Edward bucked under the thought. "I tried to convince her to get a new car. So many times. But she was so stubborn," he whispered.

So, he resents her for not getting a new car? Anger then. Oh, no, he regrets not pressing enough to get her to change her mind. Guilt. Definitely. See, you can do this.

Right you are, Madame Shrink.

Edward crossed his arms. "Look, why did you need to see me? My family is waiting on me to go home."

Ms. Periston nodded. "Well, this is all part of what I was brought in to do. You'll be meeting with me every week from now on. Although, it'll be during your free period from here on out. You'll come here, we'll talk, it's nothing more than that. Your teachers are merely concerned that this loss is affecting some students more than is normal. I'm here to help you learn to move on."

Edward froze. A second later, he blinked. Act human, idiot.

He nodded at Ms. Periston. "I understand, but I do need to.."

She smiled. "I'll see you next week, Edward."

He nodded again, rushing out of the room. He didn't stop until he got to the car. Alice and Jasper were already there, waiting.

Jasper looked up as Edward threw himself into the backseat. "Hey, so what was that slip about?"

"Guidance counselor."

"Grief counselor. His teachers complained enough about his behavior lat year, so the school got a new counselor that has experience in grief counseling to help him get better," Alice explained, looking at Edward with a frown, admonishing.

"Can we just go?"

"Sure," Jasper nodded, cutting Alice off and getting into the car.

The drive was silent, tense. Alice kept thinking about ways to change Edward, help him in her mind, and Edward could hear every bit of it. Alice knew that and didn't even try to be apologetic, making Edward even more withdrawn and angry, making Alice more determined to do something, while Jasper could feel it all escalating. He tried to calm everyone, but they were too used to it and too worked up.

They pulled into the garage, and Edward was out of the car before it had stopped moving. He tossed his bag down by the door and made for the stairs. Before he made it there, Esme intercepted him.

"How was your first day?" she asked, smiling, hopeful.

Edward shrugged, trying to step around her. Esme shifted to the side, blocking him.

"Was it better than last year?" she asked, trying to get something out of him, anything.

"Not really."

Esme forced her smile to stay where it was. "Did you have any fun?"

Edward crossed his arms. "No. It's high school."

Alice and Jasper came in from the garage. "Hi!" Alice called.

"How was your day, Alice?" Esme asked, staring at Edward, tone sharp. Edward resisted rolling his eyes.

"It was really nice. Fewer freshmen wearing skirts the length of Daisy Dukes," Alice answered, hugging Esme. "How was your day?"

"Good. I repainted the kitchen."

Jasper titled his head. "I didn't know you were thinking about that."

Esme shrugged. "It was just looking a bit drab."

Edward walked toward the stairs again. Alice saw and told Esme, "You know, they had Edward talk to the new guidance counselor after school?"

"Really?" Esme turned to Edward. "What was it about?"

Edward sighed. "She wants me to see her every week. To talk."

Esme's eyes lit up. "Well, that should be nice for you. They say that anyone can benefit from therapy."

Jasper frowned at the two women. Just leave if you want to, Edward. They're being petty. And slightly manipulative, actually.

Edward smiled slightly. "Is that all?"

Esme looked at the floor. "Yes, Edward."

He turned and walked up the stairs.

 

 

Hogwarts, September 1

Hours later, Harry was in his room, rearranging his desk. He loved that the house elves unpacked for him, but sometimes it was more of a nuisance than it was worth. They had the strangest ideas for where to put some of his stuff.

A knock sounded from the door, and Harry glanced over as Hermione walked in.

"Hey, we were wondering where you'd gone off to," she said, leaning against the edge of the desk.

Harry shrugged. "I wasn't that interested in being in the tower."

Hermione nodded. "On the bright side, you have some good competition for the Least-Tactful-Comment Award." Harry snickered. "It's nice to see you laugh," she said, smiling, eyes soft.

"Hermione, I laugh all the time."

"But you don't. Not really," she shook her head, forehead knitting up. "You'll laugh, but there's always a part of you that's holding back, or you'll laugh ironically, or something." She started picking at her nails. Harry looked down at the desk, face blank. "I just, I don't know. It's like some days you're only half in there."

Harry didn't answer. He didn't move, nor did Hermione. They both jumped when a series of knock sounded from the door. Bum bi-di bum bum.

"Oy, what is my girlfriend doing alone in some other guy's room? I think I should be jealous," Ron pronounced, sweeping into the room and wrapping Hermione up in his arms. Hermione giggled, and Harry smiled at the pair of them. "What are you two talking about?"

Harry shrugged. "Boring small talk mainly." Hermione raised an eyebrow, but let the comment pass. "How was the party? Sorry I left early."

Ron waved him off. "Completely understand, mate. Besides, it's not like it was a real party. I mean, maybe I got too used to the celebratory nature of the Post-War parties, but if that was a party, it was dead." Harry snorted, remembering some Ron's finer moments at the aforementioned parties. Hermione just smiled, leaning into Ron and basking.

"Well, I was about to say goodnight," Hermione announced.

Ron's face lit up. "Yes. Good idea. I'm dead tired." He yawned for effect.

Harry blinked at them, eyebrows raised. "You're terrible at that, you know."

Hermione let out a sheepish smile, but Ron dropped his jaw in shock. "I am quite sure I don't know what you're talking about."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Just use a silencing charm this time."

Hermione went scarlet. "We're still really sorry about that."

"I'm sure you are. I simply want you to learn from it."

Hermione opened her mouth to apologize further, but Ron cut her off, "Night, Harry."

"Night, Ron."

"See you in the morning then?" Hermione asked as Ron dragged her out.

"Like I have a choice in the matter."

 

 

Forks, August 26

It was close to four in the morning. Edward was sitting on the floor of his room. There was wood glue, rubber cement, new and old chunks of wood, and a chisel spread out around him. He'd just finished laying out all the wood pieces in the shape of a bed frame. He was next to a section that ought to be a bedpost. He began to fit the pieces together, coating the ends with glue, using tape to keep them from moving, and placing them on a worktable to dry. Then repeat.

He kept his mind blank, at least as much as he could. His family's thoughts tended to creep in, as did faint screaming, crying, flashes of white and black and brown and red and green and grey. He'd blink, shake his head, and refocus on the bed. Then he'd be okay again. Blank. Waiting. Still waiting.


	2. Chapter 2

He’s floundering.  He has no idea which direction is up.  He’s drowning.  He keeps swimming farther and farther, but he’s only going further down, thinking he’s reaching for the surface.

For so long, he’d been told to be a soldier.  Stand tall, be strong, wand at the ready.  He’d had a mission.  He’d had procedure, training.  No rest or food beyond what was necessary.  Living out of a tent, a purse, and stolen food.  Now he had photo shoots and autographs to sign.

He’d gotten through the attack at the Burrow, saved Hermione’s life at Godric’s Hollow, died at Malfoy Manor, and he was still alive.  He’d slipped through; he’d made it.  Now he was on the other side.  He had everything he’d been fighting for.  He had friends, family, a rebuilding country, school, an adoring public, but some part of him was stuck.  Some part of him was still at war.

He’d tried to find things to do.  No goal in sight beyond staying busy, having plans.  The things he found didn’t help.  Help what?  He didn’t know.

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**Hogwarts, September 2**

Harry woke up the next morning, panting. Nightmare? He couldn't remember, nor did he try to. He groaned, sitting up and rubbing his face. He sighed. He wanted to bury himself back into the pillows and blankets and warmth and comfort, but it wouldn't do anything. Harry knew he wouldn't be getting back to sleep now. He threw back the duvet and slid down to the floor.

Harry cursed. The floor was stone; it was freezing. Harry hop-ran to the wardrobe, which in an act of serendipity had a rug surrounding it. He pulled out the first outfit he found, but halfway through pulling the grey T-shirt over his head, he paused, frowning, and dropped it on the floor of the wardrobe. He changed into a black button down and tight red trousers instead, with the obligatory robe on top. After a moment, he pulled on gnarled, pilled, thick socks that were more like slippers.

Harry walked by his desk, plucking a book on core magical theory off the credenza, and settled himself on the couch in the suite's common room. He kept reading until around dawn when Hermione crept out of Ron's room, trying to be silent.

"Fun night?"

Hermione jumped, wand out in reflex. She saw Harry and relaxed. "Shit, Harry." Her hand came up to her chest as she tried to slow her breathing.

Harry quirked an eyebrow. "Sorry."

Hermione rolled her eyes, joining him on the couch. "Couldn't sleep?"

Harry shook his head, looking back at his book.

"Harry, when was the last time you got a full night's sleep?"

Harry's jaw set. He shrugged.

"You should go to Madame Pomfrey and get some Dreamless Sleep, or you're going to wear yourself into the ground."

Harry turned a page.

"Circles Have Centers: an Exploration of Modern Magical Core Theory? Don't let Ron see you with that."

Harry snorted.

"What are you reading it for?" There was an edge to her voice. She knew the answer to her question, but she wanted to be wrong.

"To pass the time."

"Nothing else?"

"Nope."

"You're sure?"

Harry looked up, cutting into Hermione with the sharp focus he set on her. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Hermione looked down, shrugged. After a moment, "I think that it would be a bad idea for you to start all that up again. You-"

Harry snapped the tomb shut. "'All that' what?"

Hermione crossed her arms. "Harry, you know what I'm talking about; don't play dumb. Going back into your war mindset is a really bad idea for you. You're already struggling to acclimate to-"

"Maybe this is how I want to bridge the gap. Maybe I can't leave it all behind, and I should just accept that and try to work with it. Maybe I'm never going to 'acclimate' to regular life. Maybe this is just an academic pursuit. Maybe I want to pursue magical theory. May-"

"Do you? Or are you throwing around bullshit because you're scared?"

Both froze, glaring at the other and not backing down. After a moment, Hermione sighed, relaxing. "I don't want to fight."

"Why would I be scared?"

Hermione looked back at him, surveying his face. He looked impassive, serious. He honestly wanted to know. He wasn't being sarcastic or ironic or rude or anything that she expected. Oh, well then. Hermione leaned back into the couch as she tried to figure through her reply. "I think, I mean, I wouldn't be surprised if you were scared to try to be normal. Or to move on from your training."

"I can't move on from my training. The point of it was to make it reflexive, natural. I can't just rewrite-"

"I know, I know. I get that. What I meant was moving on from continuing your training. It's one thing to live as you are, but, Harry, this book," she placed a hand on the top of the volume in Harry's hands, "this book is only going to add on to your training, and you know it. This is exactly what you were working on with Moody before he died."

Harry looked down, but all that was down was the book.

"Harry, I know that you've said that you want everything to go back to how it used to be when we were younger, when the world was less complicated, but you keep doing things that make it impossible for you to ever go back to normal. Studying magical cores is not going to help you get back to normal."

Harry played with the spine.

"It's not possible to actually go back to how it was when we were younger, 'Mione. It was only that easy and simple because we were young, not because the world was different."

Hermione blinked a few times.

"Do you want to be normal, Harry?" she whispered.

Harry looked up at her, but her face lacked irony. She meant it; she was curious. Harry looked back down. She was asking him what he wanted. And he had no idea.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Later that morning, Harry was sitting at the Gryffindor table, trying to fashion a bacon sandwich with some toast when Charlie came around with the timetables.

"Explain to me again how McGonagall roped you into this, Charlie," Harry called when Charlie got close enough to hear him.

Charlie laughed. "Oh, come on, all the animals I'd like, a conveniently placed Quidditch pitch, a chance to embarrass my littlest brother, and dental? How could I pass it up?" He tossed a few sheets at Harry. "Make sure my future sister-in-law gets hers, would you?"

"He hasn't proposed yet."

"He will by Christmas."

"No, not till graduation."

Charlie looked back at him. "5 Galleons?"

Harry grinned. "You're on."

They shook on it, and Charlie had to get on passing out the stack of schedules as Ron and Hermione came in.

"What was that about?" Ron asked as he clambered over the bench.

"I was formally expressing my condolences on the death of his coolness factor as it will soon be taken over by extensive memories of him trying to not yell at idiot second years."

"Second years?"

"Firsties don't know any better. They're cute."

Ron snickered.

"You're in a good mood," Hermione noted.

Harry's face grew tight. "Quite."

Silence.

"Are those the timetables, Harry?" Hermione asked, trying to undo the awkwardness.

He nodded and passed them over.

Hermione looked them over. "Oh good. We have Charms first thing. Transfiguration, and Potions in the afternoon. That should be fine."

Fine. Unprovoking. Simple.

Harry didn't talk much the rest of breakfast, just made the appropriate expressions and nodded and laughed every so often.

Eventually, they headed out to class.

 

Charms was easy. They did a bit of review and went over the syllabus. Nothing outrageous, nothing strenuous. Boring.

"Oh, sorry, Neville," Harry apologized, looking up from running right into the other boy. Or man, really.

"It's fine, Harry. No worries," Neville answered with a smile.

"How are you? How was your summer?"

"Good," Neville said, nodding. "Not as exciting as yours, I imagine, but restful, relaxing."

"That sounds better than exciting, after last year."

Neville laughed, shrugged. "No, it's just different."

Harry nodded. The conversation fizzled out for a moment. "Transfiguration next?" Harry asked, brightening his face with a smile.

Neville nodded.

"Well, let's head out then. No reason to walk alone." They started off. Harry rolled the strap of his bag in his hand. Neville picked some dirt from under his fingernails.

"How's your Gran?" Harry asked.

Neville tensed. "Not so good. She's old, you know? Your body just starts going downhill. The war didn't help either."

Shit. "Sorry."

Neville shrugged. "You didn't know."

They continued in silence. When they were nearly to the Transfiguration room, Harry paused. "Neville?"

Neville, turned around, only just seeing that Harry had stopped.

"I never thanked you. For your help. Last year."

Neville shook his head. "Don't worry about it."

"It was a huge risk, what you did. I'm not just going to forget that. You deserve a medal or something for it."

Neville frowned. "Harry, I only told that Malfoy wasn't around. I didn't do anything."

"You told Hermione and I how to get out of the castle safely."

"Through the Hog's Head. All I needed to do was point behind me."

"You protected everyone-"

"Harry!" Neville raised a hand, getting Harry to shut up. "All I did was open a door and usher people through. You're the one that was actually fighting. Thank you for trying to make me feel like a more vital part of the fight, but I wasn't. And I don't need thanks or a medal. All I did was try to get through the year unhurt. It was what everyone else was doing. So… don't worry about it. The war's over, and that's good enough for me." Neville smiled and walked into class.

Harry stood alone, clutching at his bag. Eventually, he went in too.

 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The students found the number of new teachers jarring, but it wasn't too radical of a change. Harry managed to keep himself looking at the board in each of his classes. He might not have been bouncing in his seat to answer questions - cough, Hermione, cough - but he paid attention. He went to class. He did the homework. He talked with people he knew, stumbling over his words most of the time, but still social.

The rest of the week passed that way, too. Harry was quiet, but cooperative. Even in Defense with Snape. Hermione was ecstatic. Harry was back to normal. She'd been right; he just needed to get back to Hogwarts and get back into a familiar routine.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Hogwarts, September 7**

Harry was carrying a bunch of food back to the suite. It was after curfew, so the younger students were all in their dormitories. The halls were empty.

"Hey, Potter." Mostly empty then.

Harry turned around, already knowing who he'd see. "Hey, Zabini." His voice was clipped, defensive.

Blaise smirked, stopping only a few feet away from him. "Get over your little summer experiment, did you?"

Harry glared. "What do you mean?"

Blaise took a few steps closer to Harry. "Well, this summer you were so set on rebelling. Now you're acting like McGonagall's lapdog. What happened? Did you get your balls removed along with the tattoos?"

Harry tightened his grip on a bag of glazed almonds, his gut tightening as boiling thoughts lit up all through his mind, sharpened and ready to be thrown. "What's it to you?"

Blaise stepped even closer, until he was right in front of him, and reached out to grasp Harry's hip, pressing into the bone and caressing with his thumb, bruising but warm. "You were a good fuck. But if you've become a white hat again, well, I'll be crossing you off the booty call list, is all."

Harry pushed him off, throwing him into the wall so he was pinned in place. The food Harry'd been carrying caught in the air, mid fall.

Harry stepped forward. Blaise struggled, trying to get down, but he wasn't letting go. "Let's make this clear, shall we Zabini?" Harry slid his wand out of the folds in his robes, pointing it at Zabini's carotid. "Don't touch me again, or I'll make sure that you can never touch anyone else. Understood?"

"You'll cut off my hands? That's a bit grotesque, Harry darling," Blaise commented, voice shaking and void of humor.

It was Harry's turn to smirk. "That wasn't the kind of touching I was referring to, Blaise sweetie."

Harry dropped Blaise to the floor, piling the food to pick it up again.

Blaise coughed, still feeling the wand that had been pressed into his neck. "Careful. I might tell your precious Headmistress about your threats."

"Try it," Harry dared.

Blaise leaned back against the wall, bringing his knee up to rest his arm on. "Of course. She wouldn't believe me. You have become quite the brown noser. This past year was just a little phase for you, wasn't it? You'll announce your engagement to the Weaselette at Christmas, get married next summer, take the poster- boy job at the ministry, pop out 1.8 kids, become minister just because you can, and die in your bed with you little wifey when you're ninety. How does it feel to have already lived through everything exciting that you'll ever do?"

"Yes, it's so very likely that I'll marry Ginny when I'd rather be shagging blokes and she's been with Malfoy every other night since June. Very likely indeed." Harry had stopped fiddling with the food on the ground at some point while Blaise was talking, so he stood up, folding his arms in front of him.

Blaise tilted his head back, daring. Exposing. "Oh come on. This is just a phase. You Gryffindors like to play with fire. You come down and make the snakes dance for you, and then go back to your sheltered tower when you're ready to grow up. Don't even try to deny it, Potter. I see right through you."

"What exactly is there to see through? My life is rather transparent. Rita Skeeter sees to that quite often, publicly."

"There's a difference between the Prophet calling you the life of the party and doing four months of bed hopping after the war."

"And you somehow know me well enough that you think you can understand me?"

"You're not exactly complicated, Potter."

"Since when do you care about me?"

Silence.

"I don't."

The whisper cut through Harry, swift as an arrow. "Really? You just analyze people for kicks then?"

"Fuck you, Potter. You're just like them. You spout about how you're so different, how none of the pure children in the tower can understand you or what you've been through, but you're exactly the same as them. Just as spoiled, just as simple, just as easy a life. This is a game for you."

"Goodbye, Zabini."

Harry walked away.

"Look out, everyone. The Golden boy is here to protect against the big bad wolf. Slytherins beware," Blaise called, voice echoing off the stones.

Harry kept walking.

When he was out of sight, Blaise's breathing sputtered, and he struggled to calm himself down. He stayed there, an arm wrapped around his stomach as he banged his head on the wall behind him.

 

 

 

Harry burst into the common room. He threw the food on the sofa as violently as he could, bits of it missing and flying around. "Fuck!"

Why did he have to see him? Why did he have to say such mind-fucking shit? Why did he always leave Harry upside down and shaking?

Harry upended the coffee table, trembling and panting. Seeing the mess, chaotic and ugly, the anger left him. He stared up at the ceiling. He was filling with thick regret and pain. He was heavy.

He sat down on the couch, head in his hands. "Shit."

"Harry?" It was Ron. He'd just come out of his room. "You alright, mate?" he asked, eyeing the table and strewn snacks.

"I'm fine, Ron."

Ron folded his arms. "Really? 'Fine' caused the Gryffindor Tower Tornado?"

Harry snorted.

"That was a good one, wasn't it?"

"I like the alliteration."

Ron laughed, walking over to Harry and sitting next to him. "What happened?"

Harry shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

Ron rolled his eyes. "It matters. You matter. Merlin. Harry, you're not just a puppet or figurehead. Your thoughts and feelings count too. This is, what, the five-hundredth time I've had to tell you that? Now talk to me before I have to sic Hermione on you."

Harry smiled. "It really doesn't matter. Just a stupid Slytherin saying things that aren't true."

"I reiterate: 'doesn't matter' doesn't cause you to turn into a blender on our suite. What did the idiot Slytherin say?"

"He said that I was a fake. That I acted out over the summer to get a taste of the dark side, but that I'm just going to follow the white picket fence fantasy that's been scripted for me. He also asked if my balls had been removed."

Ron frowned. "That's pretty tame, Harry."

"I know," he whispered.

"Who said it?"

"Zabini."

"There's more there than you've said, isn't there?"

Harry nodded.

"What happened?"

"Nothing that will happen again."

Ron leaned his elbows on his thighs, leaning forward. "Harry, I'm your best friend. If you can't talk to me about this, who can you talk to?"

"Ron, I don't want to talk about this with anyone."

Ron sighed. "Maybe you should anyways though. We both know how much Hermione thinks talking could help you. Hasn't it worked in the past?"

Harry was silent. He couldn't remember a time when he'd ever tried.

He started picking at his nails, waiting on Ron to do something. Change the subject. Prompt him. But he didn't do anything; he just waited.

Harry took a deep breath. "Over the summer, when I- when everything was crazy, he and I, well, we hung out. Then I wanted more and he very clearly didn't. That was it."

"That's it?" Ron questioned, eyebrows raised in skepticism.

"In a nutshell."

Ron nodded. "Overlooking the fact that you're barely telling me anything at all, are you over him?"

Harry shrugged. "I thought I was."

"But you're not."

Harry snickered, eyeing a roll on the mantle. "Probably not."

"Do you want to be?"

Harry looked up, frowning.

"Do you really want to get over him? Or do you really want to, ah, get back together with him?" Ron asked, wincing.

Harry smirked. "You were doing so well at being impartial."

"Oh, fuck, I can't. He's a bloody Slytherin!" Ron exclaimed, laughing. "Alright, now I feel better. Answer the question."

Harry looked away. "What I want-. I don't want to get back with him. I stopped it for a reason. Nothing's changed. I guess I just wish that it had."

"Changed?"

Harry nodded.

"Okay, way I see it, you've got two options. Option one, say 'fuck him' and rub it in his face that he isn't good enough for you anymore. Option two, pretend that today didn't happen."

Harry thought it over. Ignoring what had happened wouldn't change anything. Blaise would keep saying shit. He wanted Harry to react. That might be little enough for Harry to ignore it, but Harry wasn't sure that he wanted to. As much as Blaise was an ass, he was partially right, and now Harry would see it so much more. It would bother him more. Yet if Harry did decide to let today change things, what would it even change?

Harry sighed. Ignoring it would be easier. "I'll try that."

Ron patted him on the back. "Good, I don't want snakes invading our suite, if it's all the same to you."

Harry laughed, watching as Ron got up and walked away. Harry stayed on the couch, idly rubbing at his wrist.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**Hogwarts, September 18**

Harry knocked on the door in front of him.

"Come in."

Harry pushed through the doorway. "You wanted to see me, Prof-Headmistress?"

McGonagall was standing to the right of the office, fixing herself some tea. "Yes, Mr. Potter, come in. Take a seat."

Harry sat in one of the chairs in front of her desk, setting his bag beside him on the floor.

"Tea?" she offered.

"Please. Black."

McGonagall nodded, pouring into an empty cup before passing it to Harry and sitting in her own armchair on the business end of the desk. "How are you, Mr. Potter?"

"Fine, Headmistress. And yourself?'

"Fine, fine. The year has been going more smoothly than I expected."

Harry hmm'd in response. "Bit soon to be saying that."

McGonagall smiled. "Well, there are no more Weasley twins to bring sudden, large surprises, are there?"

"I don't know. The first years might surprise you."

McGonagall chuckled. "Well, Mr. Potter, I don't believe that they'll be such a problem. Actually, I was worried about what your behavior might be like this year." Harry raised an eyebrow. "I've been very pleased that you've been so well behaved."

Which made him sound like a dog. Harry smiled at her, not saying anything.

"It's definitely considerate of you to be so polite about your schooling when you were so against it before," she added, trying to fill the silence.

"Considerate?" Harry frowned.

McGonagall nodded. "It wouldn't have done much for solidarity if you had been kicking and screaming your way through this year. It's been hard enough trying to get all the parents to fully trust the school again. If you'd continued being a negative voice, it might have affected the other students."

Harry nodded even though he didn't quite see the connection, stirring his tea before downing it.

"Well, thank you, Professor. This was lovely. However I have a great deal of work to be doing, so if that was all, I'll just go."

McGonagall started, not expecting the rush exit, but she covered it with a smile. "You're quite welcome, Mr. Potter." She stood to walk him to the door. He was already half way there. "Let me know if I can-" Harry shut the door behind him. McGonagall sighed, at a loss of what to do next.

Harry reached the gargoyle at the bottom of the stairs and was still ready to punch someone. The anger flowed through him, hot and sharp. He took a few deep breaths, but it seeped back in. He'd been summoned to be handed a gold star for good behavior. Oh joy, maybe he'll get early parole.

Harry reached the suite, heading straight for his own room and slamming the door behind him. He threw his bag on the bed, but he didn't get any of the usual catharsis that came with abusing one's belongings. He needed to vent. He needed somewhere where he could vent and not worry about hurting anyone. Or anything. But where in the middle of a castl- oh. Of course.

Harry walked back out to the hallway, making for the Room of Requirement.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Harry fell back onto the floor, choking down air, trying to catch his breath. His body was thrumming, heated and throbbing. He'd be so sore tomorrow. His lungs burned, his legs liquefying, numb. His face was flushed, sweaty hair plastered to his forehead.

He'd only made it through half of his old training regimen. Half.

Harry dropped his head back onto the stone floor, now pulling in shuddering breaths, face pulling, screwed up. He was so full, full to bursting; he just wanted to explode it out of himself. He wanted to yell and tear things apart. He wanted to make a mark, break something, irreversible. He wanted-. So much. He buried his hands in his hair, clutching at it, pulling. The pain was barely noticeable, but it was there. It was something to keep him connected to reality. To living.

He just-. He needed-. Something. He needed something. His eyes started to burn. This should be easier. He should at least know what he needed. What he wanted. What the hell was going on inside his own mind. It was just such a jumble. He was too full of everything. He couldn't make sense of anything.

He threw himself up, back on shaking feet. He'd just go again, get farther. He could do that. That would help.


	4. Chapter 4

He still misses her.  Of course he does.  He can’t get over her.  They’d decided to be together forever.  He already had the ring.  He already planned out their life together.  She’d wanted it too.  They’d decided. They’d written their stories.  Until it was all erased.  Deleted.

He blames himself.  He hates that he could have stopped it.  He was only a fraction of a second late.  He was right there.  He could almost touch her.  And he lost her.  He saw when her body hit the ground.  He saw her eyes go dull, unfocused.  He felt the heat leave her.  He held her as she grew stiff.  He held onto her as she slipped away from him in a few flashes of a moment.

She’d just been there.  She’d been alive, wearing his ring, promising him forever and ever and bliss.  Then he blinked and she was dead.  Faster than the usual fleeting life of a human.  So much faster.

That was probably the worst part.  How quickly he lost her.  She’d been there and everything and he’d been over the moon and it was all so perfect, then it was all so gone.  Reduced to a beat up truck and a boat filled with roses under a cloud ceiling.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Forks, September 6th**

Edward put down the glue and looked up. The sky was starting to lighten, yellows and pinks tingeing the clouds. It was Saturday. Everyone would be home today; even Carlisle had the day off. How full. How stifling.

Edward grabbed his coat and went downstairs.

_Edward?_

_You could try to be around, you know._

_Awesome. He should join the Xbox tournament._

_You'd think he was the only guy to ever lose someone. Aren't I supposed to be the drama queen, Edward?_

Alice and Esme froze in place, all wide, questioning eyes and almost smiles. Edward was gone before they could think to call out to him. He didn't want to stay.

He climbed into his car, and drove away, driving and driving, and running, through the tress, down the streets, farther and farther. When he stopped, he was in the clearing. The same one he'd been to over and over again since June.

Their clearing.

Edward walked into the center, lying down. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath. For a moment, the ache inside of him, that constantly strained, phantom muscle, relaxed, panning outward to take in the sight. Edward's eyes touched on dull grass, looming evergreens, and a patch of dead plants in the center.

"Bella." The whisper was out before he felt his lips move, and the ache slammed right back through him, shooting through extremities and throbbing outward in his core. He wracked with dry sobs, shaking and curling onto his side, staying there, sobbing, and staying, sobbing, staying, an overwhelming lessness that he couldn't expel.

When the sobbing did subside, when he didn't feel like he was overflowing, pouring and spilling everywhere, he opened his eyes and saw her there.

The brown hair, in places chocolate, in others auburn and tucked behind her ear. The brown eyes that he knew he was going to lose, just not how. The flushed cheeks proving her humanity, her fragility. The heat that he'd be able to feel even when an arm's length away, how she'd felt like hot coals against him, and he'd masochistically pull her even closer. The way she always smelled like shampoo and body wash and blood that pulled him towards her. The void that her mind always presented to him, like it was empty. The way her eyelids would flutter, playful or confused, and it always made him want to smile. The fingers that would restlessly pull apart some poor flower or blade of grass. He could see her turning to face him, smiling and pulling his arm toward her, playing with his hand until they'd both get bored and he'd pull her closer.

It was September 6th. They'd probably have left for college by now. Maybe not. Maybe she'd already be a vampire and they would've faked her death. They'd be working on building her control. Teaching her how to act human. Either way, they'd be together. They'd be married. Happy. He would reach out his hand and graze her cheek. She'd be smiling at him, laughing at something, and he'd simply marvel at how wonderful she was, how lucky he was to have her. He'd get to tell her that he loved her. She'd say it back. He would be happy. He would have been so stupidly happy.

Edward closed his eyes. He made himself see it. He saw her eyelashes flutter as she shifted her gaze from a flower in the grass to him. He saw her start to smile, eyes lighting up as her face caught in the sunlight. She stretched, rolling back a bit to loosen her shoulders, then reaching out to brush his hair out of his face. She laughed, lying back and pulling her arms behind her to rest her head on. She used the grass as blankets and sheets, basking in the warmth, basking in Edward. She looked back over, the smile muted. "I love you, Edward Cullen," she said, eyes filling with him.

I love you too, Mrs. Cullen. I love you too.

There. That instant. It was already over, but for when it was there, when he was still living it, still fooling himself just enough, for that partial reality, he was okay again. Whole. For that split second, it was like having Bella back.

But he didn't.

Edward opened his eyes. It wasn't sunny; it was as gray as any day in Forks. He was alone. He was as cold as the wet grass beneath him.

It was worse now, throbbing like when he first lost her. He hurt worse, split in two, stripped to the bone. Edward was up and speeding out of the clearing before he knew what he was doing. He caught himself, slamming into a tree, shaking so bad the roots were unsettled. He wanted to run away. He wanted to leave and never look back. He wanted to get away from this feeling. He wanted Bella. But there was only one way to get to Bella, one way to stop feeling, and he had to wait. He'd made a promise.

He clenched his hand, the bark disintegrating in his palm, as he yelled out, almost breaking down again. He began to take deep breaths, keeping himself on the edge. Nine months. Less than nine months, and he could leave.

 

* * *

 

 

"Edward?" Carlisle called, knocking on the door.

Edward rolled his eyes at the formality. "Come in, Carlisle."

The latter opened the door and walked through at a human pace. "How was your da-"

"I know what you're going to say, Carlisle. You've been thinking it for months," Edward interrupted, not short or angry, just stating it like the fact it was.

Carlisle nodded. "I wanted to say it out loud this time."

"That won't change anything," Edward told him with a slight shake of his head.

Carlisle sighed. "Edward, this is no way to live."

"It is not my intention to-"

"I'm aware," Carlisle soothed, raising a palm to quiet the other. "However, the fact remains that you are still alive. In the time between now and graduation," Edward snorted at the euphemism, "it might be wise to act as if you are going to continue to live. Bella wouldn't want this for you, Edward."

Edward's head snapped up. Bella wouldn't have wanted to be apart from me. Bella wouldn't have wanted me to be alone for eternity. Bella wouldn't have wanted us to cover up her death. Bella wouldn't have wanted-

Bella wouldn't have wanted to die.

Edward looked away before speaking again. "She wouldn't have wanted a lot of things."

"She'd want you to be happy. She'd understand that you'd have to be away from her, and she wouldn't want you to do nothing but make yourself miserable pining for her."

"I'm not making myself this way. It happens quite on its own."

"You don't fight it."

"Because I can't. Carlisle, believe me, if I could only will away the pain, then I would. I would love to not feel like someone has taken a knife to my chest every time I move. I would love to not feel like I'm wading through the bottom of the sea when I walk through the halls at school."

"Are you sure that's true?"

Edward paused, studying Carlisle. "You actually think that I egg this on?"

"In your way, yes. You surround yourself in grief. You don't let yourself breathe for even one moment. You could be half way through the grieving process if you'd only let yourself-"

"I'm not going to forget her!" Edward threw the book from his lap, suddenly standing and halfway to the door, where Carlisle had planted himself.

"I don't want to! How can you stand there, acting like I'm being nothing more than an overly emotional child? How can you act like I'm being overdramatic, when you know full well that you'd be no better if it had been Esme?"

Carlisle's face marbleized. "If I lost Esme, it would be terrible. It would take me a very long time to get over such a loss. The difference is, Edward, that I wouldn't give up on life entirely just because she wasn't with me. There's more to my life than Esme, and she wouldn't want me to give up those parts of my life prematurely. She'd want me to live, and so I would. I would miss her every day, and it would hurt to not have her by my side, but I wouldn't kill myself. There is more to life than one relationship."

"You're saying that you'd be able to function if you lost Esme? Truly?"

Carlisle nodded. "After a few months, I believe that the grief would begin to get better, yes."

"I don't believe you." Edward looked away. "You don't want to lose me. I understand that. I accept that. But can you, please, try to understand what I'm saying too? I-" His throat closed over. He took a few breaths, then looked back at Carlisle. "Every time that I have to breathe, I breathe in a world where I can't smell her anymore. Every time I go to school, I walk through buildings she isn't in anymore. Every time I drive somewhere, I drive in a car that I don't complain about because it isn't that stupid truck. Every time I have nothing to do in the middle of the night, it's because I can't go and count how many times her heart beats, reassuring myself that, yes, she's real, and yes, I'm the lucky bastard that she wants. Every time I pretend to eat something, I hear her asking if it's possible for me to eat it. She's still everywhere. She is still the center of my life. The difference is that instead that fact making the happiest I've ever been, it destroys me because she's not that. Because I found this perfect woman, and I was enough of an idiot that I lost her." He broke off. His voice was hoarse. When he started again, he was looking at the remnants of the bed before him.

"Bella was my life," he whispered. "And she still is. I can't flip a switch or change my mind. It's ingrained now. Bel- She- No matter what I do, it's like I've just lost her. You say that it'll get better, but it hasn't. And I can't live this way. I feel dead already."

"I understand your point. However, I believe that if you tried, then you would stop feeling this way. I can't stand by without saying anything. I can't watch you go to your death without doing something. You're my son. I will not write you off or give up on you. If I lost you, I will grieve. So will Esme. So will Alice and Jasper and Rosalie and Emmett. There is more to your life than what you had with Bella. You are still alive. You still have a family and a home."

Edward shook his head. "I'm nothing. I'm nothing without her."

"And yet you're capable of hunting, attending school, completing your homework, even repairing a bed frame that you destroyed. You are capable of going on without her in your life."

Edward glared at him. "Only for now."

"Only because you choose that. There is no force compelling you to leave after graduation."

"Carlisle, I made my choice!" he yelled. "You need to accept it. I can't keep doing this. You're not going to make me change my mind."

"Now you do sound like a child."

Edward looked up to retort, but Carlisle was gone. He turned to the window-wall, leaning an arm on it, then his head. He couldn't spend eternity without her. He just couldn't. Yet he couldn't deny how his insides twisted knowing that he was tearing his family apart.

The rest of the weekend Edward spent fixing the bed frame in his room. He'd nearly gotten the first post reconstructed and smoothed out. He kept his door closed and music on. He'd still hear the others moving about the house, still hear them thinking about him, criticizing and pleading in turn, but he ignored it. He focused on the bed. If he keptup his current pace he'd be finished in only a few weeks. He'd have to find something else to do.

 

* * *

 

 

**Forks, September 8th**

"Edward, there you are. Running a bit late?" Ms. Periston remarked when Edward came into her office well after passing time.

Edward pulled on a grin. "Sorry, Ms. Periston. It won't happen again."

Ms. Periston smiled down at her desk. "Of course not. How are you today, Edward?"

"I'm well. And yourself?" he answered, sitting down and setting his bag to the side.

"I'm doing fine. A little tired, but fine."

Edward waited for her to lead into something. She didn't; she sat still, comfortable, turning a pen over in her hands. Edward began to fidget. His leg bounced, his fingers drummed on his thigh, his eyelids fluttered.

_I wonder how long he's going to take. I wish I could make people talk. So much more convenient. Maybe I'll get to him to say her name today._

Edward sighed. "What do you need from me in order to feel that I do not need mandatory therapy?"

Ms. Periston's smile tightened. _When will I get someone that wants to cooperate?_ "I need to hear you talk through what happened. I need to know that you're moving on. For me to get a sense of that, I need you to start by taking me throw the accident and what happened after."

Edward's joints locked, and he took a few cooling breaths to rid the urge to lunge at the woman in front of him. When he felt himself under control again, he looked Ms. Periston straight in the eye. "My fiancée hit a patch of black ice, lost control of her truck, went over a cliff, and died. Then when they couldn't find her body, people started to think that I had something to do with it. That's the accident you keep referring to." Edward pulled himself back. If he kept going, the fact that he wasn't crying would raise questions.

 _I only said 'accident' once._ "Does that word bother you? Accident, I mean?"

"Somehow I don't relish the idea of using the same vocabulary for an unintended pregnancy as for someone's death."

 _Was that why they were engaged? It would explain the age issue._ "What would you prefer me to call it?"

"Call it as it is: her death, my alleged crime. You can even say Bella's name, even though no one else does."

Ms. Periston nodded. "Alright. Directness, it is, then."

Edward didn't reply, focusing on getting his hands to stop shaking.

 _We need to lighten up for a bit._ "Do you have any plans for after the school year, yet?"

Yes, actually. I'm going to Italy.

Edward shrugged. "Nothing specific, at least. Well, I will no doubt be attending college."

Ms. Periston fought a smile. _Finally._ "Any ideas on what you want to do there?"

Edward looked away. "A few. Last year, I'd been thinking medical school, but-"

"But nothing. Bella's death shouldn't change your plans for the rest of your life."

You have no idea what you're saying, do you?

It was strange to hear someone say, 'Bella's death' without intent for high impact. Normally those words were used to cut into him. Hearing them used nonchalantly, or as much so as possible, was jarring, irreverent.

Edward shrugged in response to Ms. Periston's assertion. "I've also been contemplating the idea of a gap year. It might help me to pin down what I want to do since everything feels like it's floating in the air. Nothing really sticks."

She nodded. "A lot of people take gap years, and it really helps them. I'd be happy to help you plan it out." _You need something new to focus on and staying in Forks is probably a bad idea anyways._

"That would be nice."

The rest of the hour was spent brainstorming ideas and getting off topic to discuss times they'd both traveled before, but mainly Ms. Periston kept the conversation on the following year. She loved the idea of Edward thinking about his life in a Bella-free context; Edward wanted to gag. Or throw her desk into the wall, he hadn't decided.

 

* * *

 

 

**Forks, September 9th**

Edward sat down at a table in the back of the classroom, pulling out a notebook. A moment later, Mr. Berty appeared next to him. "Hello, Edward."

Edward looked up. English, right. His autopilot disengaged. Edward let the thoughts around him wash in.

_A bit masochistic, isn't it?_

_He does know what we're covering today doesn't he?_

"Mr. Berty," Edward said, nodding in greeting.

Mr. Berty bent down a bit. "You know that you don't need to be here today, right? I'll understand if it's a bit … unpleasant." His voice was lowered, face relaxed in uncharacteristic empathy.

Act Five. They were covering Act Five today. Edward had forgotten. Suddenly, a river of ice ran through him, and he turned rigid. Last year, they'd spent most of their time discussing the futility of Romeo and Juliet's death, how they edged the line of tragedy and foolishness. Many had voice thoughts that they were both idiots, that suicide and murder in the play were inflated, unrealistic.

Did he really want to go through that again?

Did he want to walk out now?

Edward smiled. "I'll be fine, Mr. Berty. Thank you for your concern. I do appreciate it." If nothing else, it'd help to get Ms. Periston off his back.

Mr. Berty nodded, making his way back to the front of the room. _No one's going to talk now. They'll be too scared of being insensitive._ Edward went back to doodling as he looked out the window. The bell rang, and everyone settled in their seats, glancing back at him every few seconds.

_How can he stand being here? Today?_

_He really is only looking for attention. No one that was actually as distraught as he acts would be able to handle this._

I can handle living without my soul mate; I ought to be able to last one period of discussion about Romeo and Juliet.

"All right, everyone," Mr. Berty directed attention back to him and the board. "I trust that you all finished the play for today. We have a lot to cover in any case. Why don't we start with Shakespeare's use of comic relief? I know you've all covered comic relief in the past, but does anyone have thoughts on how Shakespeare uses it specifically in the play?" A hand or two rose. "Yes, Matt?"

Edward noted that Berty started with as inoffensive a topic as possible. Easing into the hard stuff, then.

And so the class went on. Berty directed discussion, hijacking it at times to cover something no one else was saying, but otherwise letting the students say what they liked. Then he had to get serious.

"Now, let's move on the theme of fate in the play. Does Shakespeare argue that life is left to fate, or that it's all happenstance? And what does that mean for the play as a whole? Caroline?"

Of course it's about fate. Shakespeare has his characters invoke fate and the stars plenty of times in the play. Why else would everything go so perfectly wrong?

Almost like in Italy.

"Going off of that, what do you think will happen after the end of the play? Will the Capulet's and Montague's change?"

No. Of course not. They'll be consumed with grief, and then anger, and then blame. Their blame will be placed on those they already hated. Each other. The suicides will only lead to more hate and death.

"Good. Now, let's quickly cover the suicides themselves. In later incarnations of this play, for instance the novel and later musical, West Side Story, Tony, the Romeo equivalent, is killed by Chino, the Paris equivalent, and Maria, Juliet, lives. What does that change? Why might Shakespeare have chosen for his lovers to both kill themselves instead?"

He's trying to convey the power love can have in a person's life. He's trying to show how it makes you do things that seem crazy, but feel like the only logical option. He shows how love is unconditional, unlimited. Even if it changes nothing, they couldn't be without each other. They chose each other. In life and in death.

 _West Side Story_ uses the bare plot, but it changes so much. It shows the tragedy of gang violence through the vehicle of Tony and Maria. _Romeo and Juliet_ shows the depths of love even in unbearable conditions. They're very much the same in premise, but their focuses are completely different.

"Let's be honest, the double suicide is just stupid. It's not even like they'd even be happy in death. Given how religious the play is, they'd both end up in hell. They still wouldn't be together."

"Sometimes being dead and in hell is better than being alive and in hell," Edward said. Everyone stilled, going silent and staring at him. "Besides, given the world of the play, they would have been in the same circle of hell. The second circle, as detailed by Dante's inferno," he added, trying to lessen the drama of the moment.

"Yeah, but you of all people can't honestly say you think that what they did was a good idea."

Gasps and even more uncomfortable stiffness.

"I don't think it's about good or bad. It's about what they could and could not do. They couldn't live without each other, so they died together. That's the point. Even if they're dead, at least they're together in that. That's why the both have to choose it. That's why they both have to die. When you're at the point of suicide, it's not about good or bad. Smart or idiotic. It's about what you can and can not take."

 

* * *

 

 

Alice was waiting for him as he walked to his car at the end of the day. _I saw._

 _"I know."_ He didn't have to actually say it; she could see him saying it. Their entire conversation played out in a partial second, completely in their minds. Passing back on whose ability was driving the exchange.

_It must have been hard. I'm proud of you._

_"What's your point, Alice?"_

_You didn't become Romeo. You're still here._

_"Not for long."_

_Doesn't matter._

_"I can't spend the rest of my life without her, Alice. Don't expect me to. I just also can't lead the destruction of my family. We're immortal, Alice. One year is nothing to us. If you keep thinking this situation is different than it is, then you'll be sorely disappointed this summer."_

_Alice smiled. You're still able to live without her._

_"Can you honestly call this living, Alice?!"_

_Yes. Living is only putting one foot in front of the other. Happiness in just a pleasant side effect of getting to walk on carpet instead of rocks._

Edward ignored her, climbing into his car, slamming the door, and leaving before anyone could get in with him.

 

* * *

 

 

That night, Edward worked again on that stupid bed. He was nearly done with the initial reconstruction. He did have to wait for some of the wood glue to dry before he could continue, so he sat on the floor looking outside. Sometimes relaxation techniques would help time to pass more quickly. He'd joke that he was meditating, but in a lot of ways that was exactly what it was. Clearing his mind so that he didn't process time. Then it would suddenly be three hours later.

Tonight he was having trouble getting his mind to cooperate. It kept diverting back to that day in class. Back to the conversation with Carlisle, with Alice, with Ms. Periston. They wanted him to get "better." They wanted him to move on and find something new to focus his life on. They didn't understand. They didn't want to. No one likes the idea that he can't survive without Bella. It isn't a neat, comfortable concept, but the fact still remained that his very being would open up and burn at the very mention of her name, a bruise being stretched until it split open and was met with salt water. He could say it now, but it wasn't because the pain was diminishing. It wasn't because he was getting used to her being gone. It was because he'd just had practice with the pain. He knew how to numb himself from it, how to push it back for just long enough. Then, when he was alone, he'd let down the wall, let himself feel how much he missed her, how incomplete he was trying to move through life without the person that had given him reason to look forward to each new sunrise.

He'd had perfection. He'd had her, and he'd let her slip away.

They didn't know. They didn't understand. If they did, they wouldn't ask for the impossible. They'd know that asking anything more of him was asking him to bury her, asking him to push her off the cliff himself. They'd realize that it wasn't something that he was capable of.

 


End file.
